New Book: KB’s Monday Nitro and Thunder Reviews Volume VI

A comprehensive look back at every episode of WCW Monday Nitro and Thunder from July – December 1999. This is a rather bad time for WCW as everything is starting to fall apart due to a combination of horribly boring wrestling and some rather questionable booking choices. With the good old boys no longer doing the trick, the solution was to bring in the star of WWF Creative: Vince Russo, meaning it’s all downhill from there. In this book, every episode of both shows in the second half of 1999 is reviewed in full, complete with analysis, ratings and complete content included.

The book is available on Amazon both in a physical paperback for $10.99 or an e-book format for $2.99. In case you don’t have a Kindle, there are plenty of FREE apps you can get from Amazon for pretty much any electronic device, all of which are available at this link.

You can pick up the book from Amazon here.

From the UK Amazon here.

From the Canadian Amazon here.

Or if you’re in another country with its own Amazon page, just search “KB Nitro VI” and it should be the first thing to come up.

Also you can still get any of my previous books on the WWE Championship, the Intercontinental Championship, Monday Night Raw from 1997, 1998, 2001 and the first half of 2014, Monday Nitro from 1995-1998, In Your House, Summerslam, Starrcade, ECW Pay Per Views, Royal Rumble, Saturday Night’s Main Event, the WWF and WCW pay per views from 1998, Wrestlemania, WWE Grab Bag and Clash of the Champions at my author’s page here.

I hope you like it and shoot me any questions you might have.

Thomas Hall

Giving Dusty the Book in ’89

Hey Scott,


When Dusty went to WWF in '89 was there any thought to having him book instead of wrestle? I know everyone thinks Vince had a unbelievable drive to humiliate Dusty but did he even consider it?

Thanks

Nope, quite the opposite.  Vince specifically told him to go out and have fun because he wouldn't be in any kind of position of power while he was there.  

Book a Shoot at Wrestlemania


Hey Scott I know you love hearing about Roman Reigns and Brock so here is my hot take on the matter. With Brock walking out of RAW and the fact that he is a legit lunatic, they should book him to "shoot" on Reigns and beat him with a Kimura in like a minute. Break his arm (real or not), then have Vince come on RAW the next night and plead with Lesnar to bring the belt back. Have Heyman bring the belt in and cut a promo on how UFC > WWE, then work it out with Dana White that Brock wins the UFC belt. Then have a title vs title fight between Brock and Roman, WWE and UFC, and make some real money.

In a perfect world, not the worst idea ever.  However, I take issue with "working it out so that Brock wins the UFC belt", because it kind of falls apart there.  I'll leave it at that.  

quick book plug


Dear Scott,
 
I'm a long time reader of your blog and even bought some of your books ("Tonight in this very ring…" remains on of my favorites to this day). I've studied literature in Germany and wrote my master-thesis about Pro-Wrestling (it's medial structure, it's cultural history and the art of storytelling in Professional Wrestling and so on…). Meanwhile I've puplished it as a book, you can find it here: http://www.tectum-verlag.de/wrestling-als-sports-entertainment.html Even if the book is mostly written in german language (except some of the quotes out of the wrestling business, of course), it's maybe interesting for all the german speaking readers of your blog.
It should also be available on Amazon worldwide, as paperback or in digital form. Thank you very much and keep up your good work!
 
Best wishes,
Stefan

I feel like running the TV scripts through Google Translate to German and then back again could only help the continuity somehow.  

Ole Anderson’s book


It's 10 years old, but just came out on Kindle. Have you read it? It's admittedly the work of a man with an oversized ego, but there's GREAT anecdotes in here. The one about Stu Hart after Owen's death is just mind-blowing.

Ole strikes me as someone with no end of great stories because he loves talking about himself and saw a bunch of stuff in his career.  I'll see if I can check it out at some point.  Really though, how would the wrestling world be different if he hadn't decided to call Linda McMahon the worst thing possible in 1984?  I'm pretty sure Vince is still holding a grudge over that one. 

QOTD 146: Comic Book / Graphic Novel appreciation thread!

Shut Up, I though it was a good book.

Hey lets talk about comics some more! As previously stated I’m a casual / esoteric buyer, who spent three years living with a buddy who had a MASSIVE collection of DC stuff from weird periods of time.

So I read a lot of Kyle Rayner Green Lantern, All-Star Batman & Robin (good grief!), All Star Superman (So good!), and then a lot of the prestige stuff like Watchmen, the one drawn like people (“Kingdom Come?”), The Dark Knight Returns, The Killing Joke, and then some other stuff like Wanted, and then I’d start collecting Ultimate Spider-man up until the panel where Gwen and Peter are super forlorn looking on the last panel splash page.

Also is anyone incredibly impressed by how well the Marvel Cinematic Universe is going? This thing has been going on for YEARS and the movies have been pretty good to great, with Captain America being simply incredible. 
 
So, talk about comics / comics movies / comic documentaries, or Chasing Amy! What’s good, what’s cheap, what newbies like myself should check out, and in general just chat it up! Feel free to explain the digital services like comixology. 


I have a second question, too – does anyone else kind of not mind the way Man of Steel ended in theory? It was shot fairly poorly but I liked the idea of the no-win scenario where Superman has to kill a dude.

411mania’s “The Comics 8 Ball 3.17.14: Top 8 Comic Book Copycat Characters”

Hi Scott,

Thought this might make for some fun BoD discussion.  Call me maybe… I mean, crazy, but I'm detecting just a whiff of anti-Marvel sentiment. But only just.

http://www.411mania.com/movies/columns/316507

Eh, I feel dumber having just read that one.  Saying Hawkeye, for example, is a ripoff of Green Arrow specifically when both guys are based off the Robin Hood archetype is just ignorant.  
Anyway, speaking of comics, what the hell is going on with Hawkeye's shipping schedule right now?  It was delayed for something like four months, which killed all the momentum that it was building up, and then they shipped the Kate issue out of order.  And now there's another random issue from Christmas that just came out featuring animated dogs.  Yeah, the Pizza Dog issue was great and whimsical, but COME ON.  This story hasn't moved an inch forward in what feels like a year, with Fraction just going back and retelling the same stuff over and over.  It used to be my most-anticipated title and now I don't even know when it's coming out most times or what I'm going to get out of it.  

Cucch’s Book Review: “World Wrestling Insanity” by James Guttman.

I cannot wait to see HHH’s page on the WWE Network…

For the better part of a decade and a half, most long time wrestling fans have maligned the product WWE serves them every week with a snide and scorn that most restaurant critics would have dishing out. When remembering the long since lost days of gladiators like Austin and Rock, Hogan and Savage, Flair and Steamboat, they tend to get a wistful, wet look in their eye, their lips purse and start trembling. Eventually, that melancholy subsides and a reddened, almost purple pallor takes over their faces. Its the look many smarks are used to. It is a look in this day in age that very much tells what type of fan you are dealing with. For instance, take these two very different conversations I have had in the past week.

The first was with a girl I haven’t talked to since Elementary School…we are talking since 1992 for this old bastard. We have since reconnected because she had never seen any seasons of 24, and me and a friend of mine who are CONSTANTLY talking about it on facebook piqued her interest. Long story short, I mentioned I wrote some shit on 24 and she should check them out…which she did. She then asked why it was on a wrestling website. I explained to her that I happen to be a wrestling junkie and review books on this site. She replied something to the effect of “I love wrestling! Haven’t watched in a long time though. I loved the storylines (yes, she actually used that term) and I loved HHH and Stephanie.

Well, I mention this to the other person she knows talking up the relative merits of Jack Bauer, and this kid happens to be a fan who tuned out in 2003. I mentioned the line and his response went to the effect of this: “Ugh. Doesn’t she know that is the problem?”

That friend stopped watching WWE in early 2003. He immediately went into the military…

Now, I don’t want to present things so purely black and white here. I am not saying that this girl was or is an authority on pro wrestling. She isn’t, wasn’t and will likely never be. Neither is my friend who made that latter statement…and no, WWE did not drive him to join the Armed Forces. I just liked the idea that the product WWE was foisting upon us in 03 was so bad that it COULD force a person to enlist. But what remains is that both of these people, who tuned out a decade ago, remembered Steph and Hunter. And that one of them remembers them as a good thing, while the other condemns them as all the WWE’s problems, speaks to a huge issue that many of us on the Internet have been saying and debating for years. HHH is a problem. Stephanie is a problem.

“World Wrestling Insanity” by James Guttman, is a valuable tool to explain and chronicle those problems. I was never a fan of Guttman in the past, especially his Raw Reviews. When Scott checked out around the same time as my aforementioned friend, I searched far and wide for show reviews, because I TOO had ceased giving two pints of panther piss about what was going on. All I knew was it was shit TV where HHH was going to win at all costs. That’s it. Just two years prior, 2001, WWE was on absolute cloud nine as a wrestling company, trampling its opposition, providing quality wrestling and intriguing angles (fuck storylines), and just absolutely setting the industry, and mass media, on its ear. It was a great time to be a fan.

It ended right after Mania 17. I pinpoint WWE’s creative death right when HHH tore his quad in the infamously awesome Two Man Power Trip/Jericho/Benoit match on Raw. Right then and there, the then WWF as we knew it died.

I don’t think any of us were quite prepared for what was to come.

James Guttman’s book basically describes the descent into the depths of depravity WWE experienced from the time Triple H married Stephanie McMahon…for reals. He does make sure to mention, and rightfully so, that before marrying the Genetic Jackhammer’s Billion Dollar Demon Seed, that HHH was already an established player on WWF cards, a legitimate money drawing main eventer. HHH’s heel run in 2000 was one of the most awe inspiring things this fan has ever seen…especially seeing no one, NONE of us, saw it coming. In the year 2000, HHH forever solidified his place in the industry as the hottest heel since the heyday of Ric Flair and the Horsemen. HHH was, as Scott said that year (and has since regretted), GOD. Everything he touched turned to ****. He wrestled out of his mind that year. The Fully Loaded match with Jericho…my word man, that remains a thing of beauty to me. But the issue here, as Guttman raises, isn’t whether HHH was or was not a star before marrying Bouncy McGee. Its about what he became AFTER marrying Stephchicles. He became the only star booked strongly…not just strongly, superhumanly. HHH went from main eventer to all knowing Master of the Universe following his McMarriage. Most of the text of the book is devoted to this, and Guttman, for the most part, is just spot on.

As far as HHH (or as I called him, Quad H during that point…I was dismayed Scott didn’t pick up on that one; he instead referred to the newly returning 50 pound of lean muscle mass article as HHHH), the feuds Guttman breaks down are as follows: Kane, Shawn Michaels, Scott Steiner, Booker T, Kevin Nash, Goldberg, Chris Benoit, Shelton Benjamin (sort of), Eugene, Randy Orton and Batista. And my word man…what a slaughterhouse. And I am not talking Sullivan’s Slaughterhouse from 1989-90 WCW with Sullivan wearing a pure white apron with nary a stain on it. No, HHH SLAUGHTERED his competition with the power of several thousand atomic noogies. Kane? Kate Vick. IC Title. Lost Mask. Guttman wirtes with a fervor and passion on this one that is just electric to read. None of the shit made sense, probably the least sensical of  Quad H’s feuds. Maybe. We all know the background. If not, read the book. NEXT.

Shawn Michaels, a man who had won the WWF title in 1996, the year after Hunter had DEBUTED there. They become best buds, HBK, through the sheer power of pleasing Vince or someone backstages’ priapism, gets kliq buddy Hunter some shine. HBK has Karma shut a casket lid on his upper high asshole (well I am sure it had been stretched by that point), retires and it leads to HHH’s big push, of which, as I said earlier, HHH EARNED. So HBK returns, more or less, for a one shot deal against best bud Hunter at SSlam 2002, where HBK walks away, after a just fucking incredible match, with his hand raised. Michaels decided the power of Christ compelled him to one more run, one that saw Michaels win the first ever Elimination Chamber match over five other superstars (notice the small “s”), each of whom could have used an HBRub. Or a HHRub. Yeah, we know that ain’t happening. So WWE can’t create new stars, so how about bringing in…

THE BIG BAD BOOTY DADDY! I might be in the minority here…but I HATED this Scott Steiner persona, both in WCW’s waning days as a heel and as an inexpiable babyface in WWE. Arm wrestling contests. Push up contests. A match I saw live and in person at Royal Rumble 2003 that was so bad that I gave the following match, Benoit-Angle, the vaunted ********** rating, on the five star scale. NEXT!

The next HHH fodder…I mean opponent, was this big bald Jewish guy you may or may not have heard of. In 1998, while HHHis Excellency was arising to his eventual throne as the King of Kings (I am going to be hung for heresy once this review is over…I am just relaying the author’s views…which coincide with my own…PLEASE DON’T KILL ME). Every fan knows how fucked the Goldberg-HHH angle was, and Guttman just details it. So let us just move on, shall we?

Chris Benoit. Eat it. Digest it. You will actually see and hear of his likeness on the WWE Network. Get over it. As a sidenote, I was right there with Scott…dude was my boy, and, for a time, the only fucking reason I watched WWE. Benoit wins the Rumble from slot 1, challenges Raw champ HHH for his title the next night…and for the next few weeks, in the build to Mania 20, is considered an afterthought to HHH and HBK, even though the two butt buddies had been feuding on and off since June of 2002. Think about that: HHH and HBK had a two year feud in a company that made its biggest mark with shock television and 2 minute microwavable insta-feuds. Were they trying to reeducate the audience? Absolutely. Just so long as they enjoyed the five minute Cruiserweight match with more athleticism than Ben Johnson after several swigs of water as opposed to Shawn and Hunter hitting *ONE MOVE* and selling it for six minutes. Gag. Nauseating. Give me the tainted water, please. Anyway, most hardcore fans feared Shawn or Hunter walking away from, at that point, the biggest Mania ever, with the Gold, but fans were treated to a transcendent event where Benoit, clearly the crowd favorite (is this sounding currently familiar to anyone?) tapped Trips clean in the middle, resulting in a scene that most hardcore fans simultaneously love, cherish and, unfortunately, revile to this day: Eddie and Benoit embracing, both champions, with Chris bloodily clutching his young adoring son Daniel lovingly, as well as Nancy. UGH. I need a chaser to this…

(Watching Jimmy Snuka kill Don Muraco off the cage in 83 on WWE Network). Phew, better. That Snuka, pure class…

It all brings us to Mania 21. Now, HHH buried some folks, but Guttman hits the nail right on Austin’s Symbolic Ritual Cruci…nailing.  Right on the hand…I mean head. HHH, who had the power and intelligence to elevate anyone, ANYONE, had over three years to do it. Who did he put over? In the long run, NO ONE. I will not attempt to run with the Orton angle here, as Randy overcame to become one half of the worst Mania main event ever (as we know it right now).

Guttman then goes into diatribes about the Diva Search, Tough Enough, Heidenreich, Snitsky, all that gulag of great shit WWE was offering at that point. Those are the better parts of the book and, as anyone who follows my shit here knows, I do not ruin those. Read them yourselves. But do yourself a service: Read World Wrestling Insanity. You may avoid some of those dudes who chased Kane in the 99 Rumble. Me? I am beyond redemption.

Until the next time, I will enjoy my rubber room…

Cucch’s Book Review: Missy Hyatt: First Lady Of Wrestling.

Seeing that cover alone made me want to just purely despise this book…I was surprised, to say the least.

I became a pro wrestling fan in winter of 1989. I remember watching the Viewer’s Choice PPV teasers, and the trailer for Survivor Series 89 made an impression on me. I loved watching all the pre taped promos from Roddy’s Rowdies, Rude’s Brood, the Hulkamaniacs, the Million Dollar Team…the shit just seemed so surreal and so COOL to this 9 year old. In particular, a hulking black menace with a lazy eye named Zeus really caught this youngster’s attention. I had no clue, back then, of what a good worker was, who was a good hand and who was clearly an actor posing as a wrestler…all I knew then was that Zeus was SCARY AS FUCK, no more no less. And if Hulk Hogan’s offense could not slow him down, then by God, who could stop the man? All of that concern was set to rest a month later, when the WWF broadcast, on PPV, No Holds Barred: The Movie, The Match. Hulk vanquished his large lazy eyed black foe (who bears an uncanny resemblance to Deebo from Friday…) with three crushing bodyslams and a thunderous leg drop.

From that point until now, I was hooked. Of all things, it was Zeus that hooked me on pro wrestling. Sad to say.

Now some of you are probably wondering (hell, most): “What the fuck does this little rant have to do about Missy Hyatt?” Fair enough. I appreciate that you allowed me to indulge myself in that opening paragraph. Well, here it is. Most people my age, who discovered the phenomena known as Pro Wrestling around the same time, list a few seminal events that set off their perpetual slavish devotion to the pseudo sport we have come to know, love, hate, revile, and mock. Zeus was mine. About a month after the No Holds Barred Tag Match, we were treated to the epic criss cross of death between Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior at the Royal Rumble 1990, from Orlando, Florida. Right around those two events, the NWA, by then more or less WCW, was advertising a Clash of the Champions event, to be broadcast on TBS. I had no idea who the players in the main event were, besides Ric Flair and Sting. Even fans with the most rudimentary understanding of the mat wars were familiar with those two. As an added caveat, the Horsemen’s match with Gary Hart’s J-Tex group would be contested inside a steel cage. After being mesmerized (did not take me much back then) by the “spectacle” that was the No Holds Barred match (which, in hindsight, is just Randy Savage carrying three dudes on his back) was likewise a cage match. I was all in.

Now, the match, and the pre-match angle that saw the Horsemen kick Sting out of the group, remains the stuff of legend. I picked a hell of a Clash to be my first endeavor into WCW. The night progressed, Sting blew out his ACL, yadda yadda yada. We all know the story. But that event was what introduced me to WCW, and with the WWF running the Hogan-Warrior bulidup to Mania 6, you knew this nine year old was hooked and fucked for life. So I started watching everything available to me…and with WWF Superstars, Wrestling Challenge, Prime Time, as well as WCW Saturday Night and Main Event on Sundays (Captain Planet y’all), that pretty much monopolized my non-homework time.

Which brings me to Missy Hyatt…finally.

Missy was this wrestling fans’ first crush…back in the early 90’s, she was beyond gorgeous to a young boy who had yet to come of age. At the time I started watching WCW, she was involved with Jason Hervey of “The Wonder Years” fame. In 1990-91, he was very much at the pinnacle of his career, pre-Eric Bischoff, pre-“Scott Baio is 45 and Single”. Most male fans of the era cite Miss Elizabeth as their first pro-wrestling crush, and I would be hard pressed not to mention her striptease at Summer Slam 1988 as one of those coming of age moments for a generation of young, horny wrestling fans. But Missy was something else entirely. Whereas Elizabeth was, more or less, a chaste, fairly innocent figure who played Yang to hubby Macho Man’s Yin, Missy was more or less just a total tramp. With huge tits.

Missy’s book does nothing to dissipate the rumors that have surrounded her throughout the years. Written in 2001, she is remarkably candid about who she blew and worked with over the years. As a teenage fan, she was infatuated with Tommy Rich, to the point where she and an Atlanta territory fan named “Cheryl”, who I can only imagine to be the future Cheryl Roberts of future WWF fame, attended a live event together. They arrived for the event far too early and encountered the Georgian booker of the time…who remains unnamed. Missy was smitten at that point by Tommy Rich. Now, Missy, real name Melissa Hiatt, is, in case you have not noticed, a fairly attractive woman. Especially in those pre-collagen, pre-botox days. The booker made sure Missy was front row for “Wildfire’s” match. The long and short of it, according to Ms. Hyatt…she gave him road head.

Thus begins one of the most glorious and enjoyable trainwrecks of a book I have ever read.

Missy was involved (read: FUCKED) many wrestlers over the years, and she names names here. From Tommy Rich, it was Jake Roberts (who she describes as…well…odd), Road Warrior Hawk, “Hollywood” John Tatum…who was the man who got Missy into the business, and is possibly one of the worst workers of all time. Seriously, I was on a recent Global binge with ESPN Classic running marathon showings lately…and the man just flat out had NOTHING in ring. Or out of the ring. That is where Missy was supposed to come through. Early on in the dying days of the territories, Missy became John’s mouthpiece. Talk about putting lipstick on a pig. But Missy was something different, a hit with fans, and her schtick went down like a fine wine with them. But, for her, something wasn’t right. She was John Tatum’s sidepiece, but she was clearly above him. Her territory was soon turfed during the 80’s Vince McMahon takeover…and none other than Vince himself extended an offer to Missy that she clearly could not refuse.

That offer was for Missy Hyatt to take over the segment that was Piper’s Pit, in the form of Missy’s Manor. Large shows (and Kilts) to fill. Piper had just departed WWF to star in such critical hits as “They Live” and “Hell Comes to Frogtown.” So he had his plate full. “Missy’s Manor” was slated to be the replacement for Piper’s now legendary segment, but it bombed the first night out, as the Missy character was completely narcissistic and never should have been the WWF’s plan for her…Missy was all about Missy, and for her to be trot out week after week as an interviewer when the character remained the clear focus was just counter productive. Both Vince and Missy realized this, and when Vince turfed Missy’s Manor to, instead, have Missy become the head “Federette”, or ring girl, she went back to the love of her life, Eddie Gilbert, who was a partial booker in the recently bought out by JCP UWF promotion.

From there, Missy was made color commentator of the product, with legend Jim Ross as the blow by blow guy. (Resisting…urge…blow…Missy joke…done). While there, Missy was on the outs in her relationship with Gilbert, which she confirms in having a one night stand with, of all people, Dr. Tom Prichard. I cannot accurately describe that hot garbage, so let us move on. Missy did. On. And down.

More or less, this book is a total kiss and tell memoir…Missy throws a veritable promotion under the bus as men who have laid under her. Her next experiences were with a man many years her junior, Marcus Bagwell, Bill Fralic (Studd the Dud, for Mania 2 wonks), as well as some well known hockey players. But chief among these was Jason Hervey. I always thought this relationship was a work…but Missy confirms that it wasn’t. And she all but says it was more or less about the money turning her on more than anything the diminutive Hervey could offer. As I said earlier, what this book lacks in either depth or moral compass, it makes up for in the total TMZ factor. 

From there, and we are talking about page 135 out of less than 200, Missy quickly conveys her ECW experience, where, I think most of us watching the problem at that point can attest, Missy was just bombed out of her mind. Watch her eyes during her angles in ECW…nothing there but, maybe, lust. She conveys a story about how Lori Fullington, Sandman’s wife, treated her like royalty when the red light was off, but when push came to shove in ring, she just stiffed the ever loving fuck out of Missy. Sounds about right. Although this book is written in 2001, there are no mentions as to the WrestlingVixxxens website…just to Missy begging Vince McMahon for a job in 1997, being rebuffed, which led to Missy going back to school. The entire ending of the book, knowing what we know now, over a decade later, is utter horse flop. But don’t let it take away from the rest of the work: Missy Hyatt’s book is the equivalent to picking up that National Enquirer gimmick when in line waiting to check out at the Grocery Store…you know it is likely 95% bullshit, but it is 100% entertaining. That is the best way I can describe Missy’s book…only with less BS than an Enquirer article.

Cucch’s Book Review: Bruce Hart, “Straight From The Hart”

Bruce is about to book me as an opening match jobber in Moose Jaw Saskatchewan…

Greetings and salutations, its your friendly neighborhood Cucch coming around your way for another soon to be critically derided book review. So before we begin the festivities, let me say a few quick things about what is going on in the land of milk and honey that is my life.

I mentioned during one of my last reviews that I was unceremoniously bounced on my ass (laid off) from my last job, after four months of high performance. Trust me on this: I make pizzas far better than I write, rest assured. But for all the lament I may have had, things have actually been going quite well. I found a new job in short order, at what is more or less a biker bar. Fun stuff. Position is still tentative, but I have the inside track. I am also, finally, getting my car back on the road. Now, most of my readers here don’t have to hear the recovering yadda yadda yada bullshit, but, in just another instance where my reckless behavior spiked my life into the ground like a Rob Gronkowski touchdown celebration, I had two DUI’s 12 years ago….both within 9 months of eachother, both right after I turned 21, both right after 9/11. I have been too much of a mess for much of the last decade to do anything about it, so I have been not driving, very much living the bus and train lifestyle. Once I lost my job, my old man, the one person firmly in my corner, decided enough was enough, it was time for a change. My mom passed away 5 years ago, so we still have her car sitting in the driveway, the plan all along being for me to get it all fixed up and get it on the road…that was step 2 in my plan back to respectability,  step 1 being get a full time job. Step 3 is get back to school. Well, with step one being yanked from me, my old man took it upon himself to basically pay for me to get step two remedied. Basically, I have to have my car outfitted with what is called an “Ignition Interlock.” Basically, its a breathalyzer for the car…think of the car of the club rat Steve Carell tries to hook up with in “40 Year Old Virgin.” That’s what I am looking at. I more or less have all that set now. Add in the potential of a new job, well, things be looking up, yo.

But what am I thinking? You clicked here for a sub par book review, and GODDAMN MAN, I am fixing to deliver that right here, right now. You want sub par? I am going to 1997 Masters Tiger Woods the shit out of this one. It is a proper time to review this book for me, as here in Massachusetts, the weather is sub zero with over a foot of snow. Not unlike Calgary this time of year. So let us take a look at Bruce Hart’s memoir, “Straight From the Hart.”

I have never made any bones that I am a huge Bret Hart fan. The man was, and remains, my favorite wrestler of all time. That said, I have never had much access to Stampede Wrestling. Much of the material you find online is either incomplete or joined in progress. Having also just read Heath McCoy’s unbelievable tome on the history of Stampede, I can sort of gather why, but that’s another review for another day. So if I show any sort of knowledge gaps here, you will know why. Bruce Hart has always struck me as this conniving mama’s boy who pushed himself beyond all bounds of sanity to the detriment of his pop’s company, but also a booker who was far ahead of his time. Indeed, Bruce strikes me as a walking contradiction. In reading his book, I was hoping to be swayed in one direction or the other. That is not the case.

Bruce Hart is a bitter, bitter man, so it would seem. His bitterness seethes through in his book, as much as he tries to prevent it. He makes his younger brother, Bret, look totally secure, well adjusted and carefree. Much of Bruce’s tome is a strategic breaking down of his baby bro’s foibles, insecurities and shortcomings. It starts innocuously, as Bruce gives a fairly decent breakdown of the history of Stampede wrestling. These chapters are generally in adherence with  what most consider the true history of the territory. The Stomper. Abdullah. Dave Ruhl. It is all there, and Bruce bullshits nothing, giving a fairly accurate depiction of what his father created and fostered. It is when Bruce himself becomes a professional grappler for his dad’s life’s work that the cracks begin to show. Welcome, everybody, to the Bruce Hart show.

The story begins that brothers Keith and Bret are booking the promotion into the ground, after Archie Gouldie’s heyday, promoting nothing but good, solid wrestling with a bunch of gimmick blowoff matches. Chain matches, cage matches, matches that generally include maximum bloodshed. Finally, against his better judgment, Stu appoints Bruce as his booker, right after Bret takes an overseas tour, and BAM, Bruce finds the magic potion and makes Stampede a dynamic promotion. To be fair, he did, just in more far out ways than his brothers. Bruce is the ultimate babyface in this act. His greatest claim to fame is discovering a young British lad named Tommy Billington. The Dynamite Kid turned Stampede on its head, and Bruce, to his credit, was the man who unearthed him. But where Bruce is quick to deride his brothers for featuring either great technical wrestling or more hardcore means…he himself just uses a formula of the two. He happened to come across a transcendent talent that has become canonized in wrestling lore. Dynamite was magic. Mix him with grapplers such as Dave Schultz, his brother Bret and others…well, it became a magical period for Stampede wrestling. Everyone was riding high, and these portions of the book are quite entertaining. Well, besides Bruce just ripping the shit out of Bret every chance he can. But I digress.

Then that evil Vince McMahon came along, and fucked up everything.

That is not to say that is an invalid sentiment shared by Bruce…Vince, by making wrestling national, made it into the shit show we watch every Monday at this time. Watered down, boring, shitty workers, for the most part. Bruce relates that the biggest screwjob was Vince doing Stu and not living up to the deal they originally agreed to for western Canada, while conveniently forgetting to mention his whole role in the process. It is here where the book becomes a theater of the absurd. 

According to Bruce, from 85-89, he really wanted no part of reviving his dad’s promotion…even though all good historical study of Stampede suggests otherwise. That said, once Vince reneged on the initial agreement with Stu, Bruce found himself at the helm of the new Stampede promotion that we found in the late 80’s. These chapters find that Bruce is once again the hottest babyface in the world, along with new cohort and trainee Brian Pillman. The Pillman chapters are curious, because from all intelligence I have read, Bruce just wanted to attach himself to an up and coming star, Pillman being it, yet Bruce says he totally carried the Bad Company vehicle. In any case, Bad Company WAS a big boost to Stampede. But two huge WWF stars were about to send it crashing to the mat in early 1989: The British Bulldogs.

For fans of Bruce and, moreover, The Bulldogs, the animosity between the performers is well understood. Dynamite and Bruce hated everyone, especially eachother, and Davey…well, we’ll get to Davey Boy later.  The last gasp of the real Stampede wrestling was supposed to be the Davey-Dynamite blowoff, but it never happened. For one, Dynamite was on his last legs as a performer, as back injuries and drug issues had sapped him of his once legendary abilities. Secondly, an auto accident almost ended Davey Boy’s career (BTW…Bruce maintains he is the man who came up with the Davey Boy moniker…one of the more understated, humble assertions he makes in the book in the guise of total humility), right around the time Owen Hart was marrying his sweetheart, Martha Patterson. Bruce was the best man for Owen at that affair, and it should be mentioned that, like every Hart’s book seems to do, that Bruce was Owen’s closest sibling. It remains mind numbing to me how many of the Hart’s were the closest to Owen…its almost a running gag. From Bret to Diana to Bruce…they all had Owen’s ear. It either speaks to the man Owen was, or to the degenerates the rest of his family are and remain. It is truly tragic reading these rags, how all of the Hart’s were closest to Owen. I guess it speaks to the measure of the man, and the degeneracy of the family.

But here is where the book really starts to go off the rails. Bruce relays all of his experiences with brother Bret in the WWF. He maintains that it was Owen who secured all of his chances with WWF. Never Bret. In 1993, when Owen, still very low on the totem pole, and Bruce, still nowhere on said totem pole, appeared at SummerSlam 93 in Bret’s dual matches with Doink and Jerry Lawler, it was, as Bruce says, Bruce who made the biggest impression, according to, his memory, Dave Meltzer. Funny, as a fan of the time, all I remember Bruce for was getting Doink’s water bucket getting thrown all over his oh so butch western wear. Owen, under contract and no doubt telling Matt Borne that hit me with that wet shit, I will rib you to the ends of the earth, is mentioned as an innocent bystander. Thus begins Bruce’s smear campaign against Bret. Bruce was the big name who came out of Survivor Series 93. He was the big name to come out of Canadian Stampede 1997. He mentions that he outshone Bret, yet forgets to include he stiffed the shit out of soon to be number one draw in the history of wrestling, Steve Austin. Not one mention there. His assessment of the Montreal Screwjob, while sort of laughable, is interesting, but it comes off as more sour grapes than it does reasonable explanation. Which is a fine way to describe this shit show of a book.

Along the way, we get the whole Davey Boy-Andrea story. Bruce is far more forgiving to Davey, the man who stole his wife, than he is to his brother Bret, who seemingly did nothing but try to help him. Typical Hart Family nonsense. By the end of the story, Bruce has more or less forgiven his ex for her transgressions, gives her money she and he don’t have…and gets royally fucked in the long run. Bruce never touched drugs in his life save but for once, but he fell victim to an ultimate drug hustle. Takes one to know one. Davey died a couple of days later.

So what do I say? Bruce Hart’s book is filled with so many false truths and blatant bullshit that no man in his right mind would recommend it. Yet it does show some merit, some truth, and infinite enjoyability. Think of if as a spectacular car crash that you cannot keep your eyes off of. Think Kim Kardashian. I hated reading it, yet simultaneously loved it. Sometimes, it is fun calling other people on their bullshit.

Cucch’s Book Review Special Edition: All of Scott Keith’s Books.

Methinks I better tread lightly here…

Let’s dispense with all the pleasantries and ball slurping right out of the gate. Obviously, as a writer on this site, I am a longtime fan of the grand poobah of this blog. I have been reading Scott’s rants since way back in the WrestleManiacs years, starting with his WCW Thunder rants many moons ago. I was a loyal CRZ guy at the time I discovered Scott’s, uh, unique outlook on one of my favorite pastime. I believe it was a line referring to Van Hammer’s “Leather Jacket of Extreme Discomfort” or someone using “The comfy cushions of death~!” that really dialed me into his writings, and since early 1998, I have been a loyal and devout Keith follower. Much of my early writing styles attempted to ape Scott’s style, until I realized a few things: That there is only one Scott Keith, that I was not a very good imitation of Scott, and I needed to find my own voice. While I still do keep some elements of Scott’s writings in mine, its amazing going around the interwebs, reading a review by some new cat on the block, and within about 100 words, know that the author is clearly trying to imitate Scott. Usually poorly.

With that said, obviously I have read all the man’s books. I bought “Buzz on…” the day it came out. Same goes for “Tonight in this Very Ring” and “One Ring Circus.” However, where I live is not blessed with a good amount of book stores to peruse through (and I have shitty credit, so Amazon was out of the question…plus at the times of their releases, my money was going towards some more mind altering substances)…so I only just read “Dungeon of Death” about a year ago, and just today received, from Amazon, at a cost of four cents plus $4.99 shipping, “Wrestling’s Made Men.” I devoured it in about two hours (trust me…after slogging through that shit that is Dusty Rhodes book…this was a fucking cakewalk) and loved it.

Which got me to thinking: I generally like all of Scott’s books, and the last few all generally follow a simple formula: describe what is wrong with the WWE, elaborate on the problems, throw in some match reviews, voila. So reviewing one of them is basically like reviewing all of them, so I figured I’d do something different here: quickly run down each book, discuss the relative strengths and weaknesses of them all, and give a somewhat objective ranking of each work of Scott. So let’s do this.

Scott’s first book was “The Buzz on Wrestling”, which was a popular book series around the turn of the decade roughly akin to the “(Whatever Subject)…for Dummies” series. It was meant to be a quick tutorial for the uninitiated to the mat wars at a time when wrestling was at its zenith popularity wise. It is a quick and concise history of the modern era of wrestling that has sections dedicated to certain wrestlers and promotions in an attempt to give the less astute fan an idea of what was REALLY going on with said performers or promotions at the time, and in that sense, it is a success. Whenever I would have a friend or co-worker ask me questions about wrestling and how they could gain some more knowledge, I always referred them to this book, because it is easy and quick to read, and is filled with some great knowledge that alot of us smarter fans had already discerned from Scott’s online writing.

However, reading it today is very much reading the portrait of the artist as a young man. That is what is going to make this review interesting hopefully. It more or less really gets going around Hogan and the AWA and reaches the year 2000. Don’t get me wrong, its a good book, one I will still pick up as I am rushing towards the bathroom and in need of something quick and easy to read. (I can recount most of the book offhand without even glancing at it…even the typo’s, like Dynamite Kid’s style and drug use causing him “dearky.”), but it was really just scratching the surface of what was to come. It had some snark to it, but not nearly what was to come. It did not feature any match reviews, which were to come. Which leads us to…

“Tonight in this Very Ring” was what I considered the genesis of the more modern, scathing Scott we have come to know and loathe. I mean love. Consider “Buzz” the end of the Netcop years, and this book as the genesis of the smark rants. It is basically dedicated to the years 2000-2001, and reading it now is very much a trip, having experienced that wonderful WWF period live and in living color, if you will. The snark is turned up. The match reviews are there. And so is a phrase Scott rues to this day, in print: “HHH is God.” To be fair, in 2000, HHH really WAS Godlike, as he and Rock, with Austin sidelined, drew obscene amounts of money together, and it also didn’t hurt that the mid card had been revamped with additions like Benoit, Guerrero, Jericho, Malenko, et al. In short, it was, for this fan, one of the best years of wrestling I have experienced. Add in the fact that Russo had left for greener pastures in Turner Land, phew, buddy, it was a fun year, especially for PPV’s.

Well, except for King of the Ring 2000, the one PPV I had the privilege of attending live that year. That PPV was a steaming pile.

Anyway, “Tonight…” began a killer run for Scott, as he was well ahead of the curve on what precisely was going wrong with the WWF product even as it reached its pinnacle. He foresaw the growing HHH problem. This book introduced many to the term “Glass Ceiling.” It featured the Scott we all know and love (phew…got it right that time) right as he was reaching the peak of his powers. Without a doubt one of Mr. Keith’s better offerings. But the best was yet to come, with…

“Wrestling’s One Ring Circus.” This is, in my mind, without a shadow of a doubt, Scott’s best work to date in print form. It details a very tumultuous time period in the history of WWF/E, 2002-03. HHH becoming the egomaniac we all deride to this day. Austin walking out. WWF losing its name.  It takes the blueprint Scott laid out with “Tonight…” and turns the volume up to 11. Scott was a very jaded viewer at this point…as were many of us…and it is reflected in this book. It also seems to mark where modern Smark Scott shows up for good, filled to the brim with sources deep within the industry, as evidenced by the remarkable chapter on the walk out and demise of Stone Cold Steve Austin, which, if you have never read, in my mind is the definitive chapter on what he was experiencing at the time. A total slam dunk ***** classic chapter that may or may not be Scott’s definitive MOTY. Unreal stuff. Those last two words actually accurately describe the whole book, as it is just spot on from beginning to end, showing uncanny prognostication powers that I remain in awe of. Still a book I very much read to this day when I have time.

A quick life experience side note here: After this book is where I very much fell into the vices that basically destroyed my life for the better part of a decade. 2003-2011 were very dark times for me, so while I read Scott’s sporadic online contributions…and they were beginning to become very sporadic, reflecting his distaste for the product…his books became afterthoughts. It was only this afternoon I received, and read, “Wrestling’s Made Men.”

My thoughts on this chapter of Scott’s book writing is that it is a very good book, his second best. But in light of some events over the last few years, the two star players of the tome, Eddie and Benoit, make it almost tragic to read in retrospect. If I had read it when it initially came out, that Chris…in a druggie haze, no doubt…would have screamed “RIGHT ON!!! BENOIT!! EDDIE!! FUCK THE WORLD (Wrestling Entertainment)!” Reading it today though more or less made me feel a little melancholy, because I can recall experiencing the same joy as Scott relays in the book when Benoit won the Rumble in 04, when Eddie won the title at No Way Out in the Cow Palace, Mania 20…honestly, that was the pinnacle of my fandom, and its all been downhill ever since. It was a fun read because, honestly, I was so messed up at that point I was not seeing Raw week to week, let alone Smackdown. And to be honest again, reading this book, I am glad I wasn’t! There were some horribly illogical things going on with the WWE product at that time. Nathan Jones. Heidenreich. Mordecai. Kenzo Suzuki. Luther Reigns. HHH. The babyface push of Randy Orton. Ugh. Just…so…bad. Yet the book also describes WWE starting to finally push new guys towards the top, in the form of the (soon returning) Batista and John Cena, which at the time was a fresh idea that Scott was skeptical about. Wonder how he feels about that now, what with Cena being pushed and pushed and PUSHED down fan’s gullets (he was remarkably prescient on how Cena would go down well with younger fans) to the point of nausea. All in all, almost as brilliant as his prior book, but the main body of work showed an author who was growing weary of the product, on the verge of total wrestling breakdown…and Scott seemingly did, as did many of us fans as well. WWE had hit a corner here where Johnny Ace had taken over as head of talent relations (lowercase for a reason) and Steph and Trips were gaining more and more power. Honestly, the highlight of the book is Scott and friends attending Backlash 2004 and the Raw the following night, and their interactions with Shane O Mac.

“…Made Men” ends with a very somber afterword, as in between finishing the book and its publish date, the wrestling world lost Eddy Guerrero. Any fan worth their salt knows how great Eddy was in the ring, and what a spectacular fuck up he was outside of it. If I had to compare my life, my experiences, to a wrestler, its Eddy. Total perfectionist fighting the odds and a huge family influence trying to find his way to the top. In that process, he finds every pratfall known to man in an effort to remain at the top while slowly and surely descending into every abyss he attempts to jump. It is almost sort of ironic that Eddy’s death closes out “Made Men” with little mention of Chris Benoit. The afterword by Scott is written in February of 2006. 18 months later, the landscape of wrestling would change, and it would involve the very man Scott worshiped at the altar of.

Chris Benoit murdered his wife and child on the weekend of June 25, 2007. Chris Benoit was the lord and savior of the internet wrestling fanbase, a man most championed by Scott Keith himself. I can remember how I felt once I learned the grim reality of the situation: I felt like my balls had been stretched out and Benoit had thrown his hardest chop right down the middle of my sack. How could the man we had been led to believe was the ideal wrestler, salt of the earth, just a great guy who provided us hours upon hours of amazing wrestling, be this cruel and sadistic madman? I remained in mourning for many years, refusing to analyze the hard facts, just because it hurt too much. It was only within the last two years, when I really got clean, that I figured I would determine if I was being irrational in defending the man because of the concussive nature of his line of work, which leads us to “Dungeon of Death.”

In my opinion, “Dungeon of Death” is Scott’s lesser work. We all know Scott was a HUGE Benoit guy, to the point of obsession (just for the record, so was I), so I was expecting huge things from a Canadian who experienced more or less the entirety of Benoit’s career. It was a slam dunk for Mr. Keith to really, really, REALLY fashion a name for himself in the literary world. Who better than SCOTT KEITH to write the definitive story on Benoit and his ascension and demise?  Well, I read the book about ten months ago, and was totally underwhelmed. I got a section that described Benoit’s career in about 70 pages, and then the book moved into this morbid death march of wrestlers who lost their lives due to drug abuse…quick little snippets that never really scratched the surface, much like Scott’s description of Benoit’s career. I was expecting so much more, but was left totally deflated by it, and consider it Scott’s worst work. Muschnick’s book on Benoit was better. As was Randazzo’s. And those two can be described as a skeptic and the other as a total outsider who did damned good homework. Was Scott too emotionally scarred to write the definitive Benoit tome? (Ring of Hell is it, by the way, for all the guff I gave the author.) I do not know. All I know is that Scott’s Benoit book left me with more questions and skepticism than any of the ones that have been produced to this date.

So then. We all frequent this site, so we are all Keith-ists to a degree. Here is where I have his books ranked:

1. One Ring Circus
2. Wrestling’s Made Men
3. Tonight in this Very Ring
4. Buzz on Pro Wrestling
5. Dungeon of Death

This post was meant as less review and more of a discussion starter. How far off base am I? Delusional? What are your favorite Scott Keith books and why? Have at it.

And yes, Missy Hyatt is coming. I just received the book via mail today, and not even 30 pages in and she is giving Tommy Rich road head. Its next…

Cucch’s Book Review: “Dusty: Reflections of Wrestling’s American Dream.”

Is he really too sweet to be sour daddy, if you will? Read on…

Dusty Rhodes has an undeniable legacy in the annals of professional wrestling. He is a man who took a thimbleful of athletic skill and look, mixed it with a metric shit ton of charisma, and created one of the most legendary characters wrestling has ever seen. Virgil Riley Runnels Jr. created the monster that became, arguably, one of the biggest babyface draws in the history of North American wrestling, “The American Dream” Dusty Rhodes. That fact alone should have made this book a slam dunk, a no brainer, for any wrestling fan…any fans collection would be incomplete without the complete story of one of wrestling’s most legendary figures, a man who truly transcended the sport. It should also serve as Dusty’s coda of sorts, as Dusty is not only a man among boys when it comes to his on screen exploits, but behind the scenes as well, and not necessarily in a good way. WWE announcers like to say John Cena is “the most polarizing figure in the history of WWE” simply because they book him like shit, like some unbeatable Superman in an era where people are not looking for it. Well, where Cena is booked to fail, Big Dust booked HIMSELF to the moon, to the detriment of several, and for that he remains probably the single most polarizing figure in the history of modern wrestling. So one would think he would take a step back, show some humility, and explain exactly where he was coming from during his years atop the wrestling landscape.

You could not be more wrong in your assessment or assumption.

Dusty Rhodes autobiography, for this assessors worth, has to be one of the worst written, most egotistical pieces of trash I have ever read. I read the book about a year ago, when I was still very much in a rhesus monkey recovering state, and hated it. I recently read, and reviewed, his son’s book, and thought to myself, “Well, maybe I gave one of the biggest draws in the history of the business the short end.” So I bought it…repeat, BOUGHT it, with my hard earned cash at the bookstore down the street from my now former employer. I bought it three weeks ago, along with David Shoemaker’s new book and Gary Michael Capetta’s book. I rifled through Shoemaker’s book, which is basically Scott’s “Buzz on Wrestling” on crack, and through Capetta’s book, in 3 days each. Both great books, both reviews to be forthcoming. But Dusty’s book stuck in my craw. A lot of people are wont to deride Bret Hart’s book as thoroughly egotistical…listen, I get that. He overstates his place in the landscape of wrestling. But he always knocks himself down a few pegs at the right opportunity, and it is well written without the aid of a ghostwriter. Dusty’s tome is…just…wow. Firstly, it is not particularly well written. Which is amazing seeing that Dusty ranks as one of the top stick men of all time. Sure, not the most educated, but Dusty, on screen, always made his point, always crystallized what each angle he was involved in boiled down to. Here, in his book…you read a passage and you need to read it back five or six times to make sure you read it correctly. But that is hardly the only gripe you get here. No sir. Dusty also has a very high opinion of himself. While that is common in most wrestling books, most of the authors realize their mortality or limitations or…just…something. Dusty, not him. In his mind, he was the biggest babyface ever (he may not be far off in that assessment). He is always harping on separate eras of wrestling, which he calls “Yellow Finger” and “Pre Yellow Finger.” Basically, Yellow Finger refers to Hogan’s WWF run in the 80’s and the foam fingers WWF marketed for him as merchandising. Dusty maintains he was Yellow Finger before Yellow Finger…which is true…and the whole first half of the book is Dusty explaining how huge he was, who he may or may not have partied with, and why he is God’s gift to the industry. Now, normally, I come to expect that in most wrestling books, as most wrestlers have a very high opinion of themselves, and their contributions to the history of the game. But this is an instance where it reaches critical mass, as Dusty unapologetically rambles on and on and ON about his legacy and how it is criminally underrated. And to an extent it is, but to any fan worth their salt, it isn’t. Its false bravado just for the sake of false bravado, whereas Dusty needs no reason for false bravado. He is a legend, realized as such, and the fact that he feels compelled to share his dick size throughout the book is actually quite sad.

The good portions of the book usually revolve around Dusty’s exploits with Dick Murdoch as the Outlaws, and his marriage to his second wife, Michelle. Those portions are quite good. The wrestling portions are downright delusional though. Testimonial after testimonial from former wrestlers/managers/acquaintances only serve to blow Dusty’s Hindenberg size ego to ridiculous levels, and make for a tough reading experience. Dusty basically glosses over the glory years of Crockett in order to make sure the reader knows that Crockett folding and selling to Turner was not his fault at all, no sir, it was the corporate higher ups. Dusty passes more bucks than Donald Trump to the folks at Neilsen. Its actually quite pathetic. The polka dot years in WWF? Four pages. His last WWF angle with his son and Ted DiBiase (an awesome angle, by the way)? Four pages. His altercations with Bianca Jagger and the denizens who inhabited Studio 54 in the 70’s and 80’s? Dozens of pages. While he does recover towards the end of the book in describing Cody’s progress, the previous 200 pages render that point moot.

So is this book pure shit? Yes. Does Dusty come off as worse than he did before writing it? HELL YES. But it is worth reading, as most fans are not going to believe the level of egotism and condescension experienced here. I give the book my full negative review, call it the Kennel in a Cell review, but at the same time, track it down and judge for yourself. It is a very interesting character study in self delusion.